


Shot With A Kiss

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Target practice—until it isn't.</p>
<p><i>The skin-to-skin contact made Cas blow out a breath he'd been keeping inside him for a millennia, the rush of air mixed with something else—a whimper, maybe even a groan. Whatever it was, it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard, making him hungry for more just like it. Starving</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shot With A Kiss

They'd traded in the stifling air of the shooting range for sun; suspended targets for a line of old beer cans teetering on wood stumps and old boxes. Quiet instruction for touch. Aim for the heartbeat skittering beneath his lips. Target practice had become something else for them, more than just teaching Cas how to shoot. It'd become a game, to see who would break. Come first, lose the game. Dean lost every single time.

This time, he wouldn't.

"Keep your eye on the target," Dean whispered into his ear. He held on to him tighter, strong arms wrapped around his waist. Their bodies were flush front-to-back with Cas curved against his body like the missing piece to his jigsaw puzzle. If Cas had the mind enough to do it, if he wasn't concentrating so hard, Cas could grind his ass into his crotch and that'd be the end of it. He'd lose the game. Ten seconds flat.

But he didn't. Cas stood like an iron giant, tensing beneath his touch, beneath the fingers skirting just above the waistline of his jeans. The muscles in his shoulders coiled tighter and tighter with every kiss. A soft press of lips on his bicep, the nape of his neck, his earlobe—touches that had him wound up tighter than a cobra. If his concentration could hiss, snap at him with teeth, it surely would have. Sharp and intense like the growl in his throat.

Dean huffed a laugh against his neck at the noise, enjoying the way goose flesh bubbled up beneath his lips. He was getting to him, he could tell. Not by the way Cas jerked his shoulder back, trying to make him stop, but by the way he let out a shuddering breath against him. The way his whole body went ragged when he took in another one, just on the edge of complete and utter surrender. A whisper broke through tight lips when Dean dipped his fingers into his pants, and it was the give of his spine that made him smile—because he knew. Knew that he was chiseling at Cas' defenses, that Cas would crumble beneath his fingers. Cas' body shuddered as if agreeing.

"Concentrate."

He kissed the back of his neck again, the taste of his sweat human and real. It'd been months since Cas had fallen, a powerful angel diffused and reduced to the shell of a broken man. He gently introduced him to humanity with food, whiskey, and sex—lots of sex—before ever letting him handle a gun. Cas took to everything with an ease that surprised him. Guns, too. Especially guns, in fact, taking down cans and paper-man targets like any good soldier would--when he could concentrate. When Dean wasn't trying to make him lose the game.

Cas fought to keep the gun level, aimed at a crumpled can. His arm shook like a tremor in the earth, faltered when Dean touched the crown of Cas' cock, all wet and aching for him. The skin-to-skin contact made Cas blow out a breath he'd been keeping inside him for a millennia, the rush of air mixed with something else—a whimper, maybe even a groan. Whatever it was, it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard, making him hungry for more just like it. _Starving_. Dean slipped a loose circle of fingers around Cas' length and it sated him briefly, but he needed more. A lot more. He didn't need to wait more than the span of a breath to get it.

The slow, almost tentative grind of Cas' hips sent him to another place, away from shooting practice--away from Earth. "Fuck," slipped out of his mouth, tumbling in a panted breath against his skin. Cas took the breathless word as a dare, wiggling his tight ass in small yet firm circles, just to see if he'd break. It was a type of warfare, this game they played, bringing each other to the battlefield neither of them wanted to win—no, they'd rather impale themselves on the losing end of coming. Not much of a game. Maybe just an excuse—

—to touch his skin, to watch those hipbones ease up as Cas fucked into his hand. Nice and slow. Easy. Now, his jeans were down to his thighs so Dean could see all of him, his hard cock slipping into his hand over and over again. Watching it—was fucking amazing, his breath growing heavy against Cas' neck. Dean closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, inhaled everything _Cas_ , getting so high and fucked up on his scent, his _sweat_ —

_Think of something else. Anything else. Don't lose._

The pressure of Cas' ass against his hard dick drove him crazy. The lazy circles, the rough insistent rubbing. Dean pressed his face against Cas' neck and let out a groan, rocking his hips forward just to feel more of the friction. Tease himself with it. Bring himself so close to the edge just to back off—which never worked out for him. Not quite. Cas knew it, knew it now, too. How close he was, how much longer he _couldn't_ handle this. And like the son of a bitch he was, Cas arched his back beautifully, turning his head to tease him with a mouth Dean couldn't quite get to. Dean inched forward and Cas backed up, their lips always so close, almost touching. Almost— _everything_.

And when Cas reached back to grab his hair, yanking it just the way he liked it—

... fuck.

So close.

_Don't lose_.

Dean jacked him harder, his fist moving furiously, with a purpose beyond just getting Cas off. The groan that shot out of Cas' mouth, gravel-rough and deep... Cas liked whatever he was doing and his body buckled with it, trembling against him. Cas turned his head away, exposing his neck, and Dean buried his face into his skin. Nipping at the pulse, chasing it with his tongue. Thighs quaked against his arm, Cas' hips a blur of _need _and _almost there_. Fuck winning or losing. Fuck everything.__

__Dean came with a force that nearly bent him over, his jeans suddenly so warm and wet. His skin went crazy with little pinpricks, his body rubbery and sated. In his hands, Cas lost it, spilling over his fingers with a cry of pure bliss. Growing slack against him like a wet blanket. They came down from their high together. Where the gun went, who the fuck knew._ _

__Cas mumbled against his jaw, "You lost."_ _

__And yeah, he did._ _

__"I let you win."_ _

__Just like he always did._ _


End file.
